


metamorphosis

by shogo



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Mental Instability, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 12:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16241507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shogo/pseuds/shogo
Summary: The safe-house was in a busier district of the city than Shinya had been anticipating.





	metamorphosis

The safe-house was in a busier district of the city than Shinya had been anticipating.

Unforgiving concrete buildings stretched high on either side of the road, their cold gray outlines imposing and commanding. It was a late hour, but there was still traffic in this part of town, people finally heading home from a late shift of their Sibyl-assigned career. Shinya felt trapped here; very aware of the fact there was now a price on his head and a charge of treason to his name. Every person was a possible enemy and each street scanner a death sentence. Somehow despite this, he’d gotten here into the city without incident and with an almost dreamlike sensation of serenity as he found and procured what had once been his enemies vehicle after escaping the hyperoats field.

Shinya cast a long look out the window, surveying foot traffic outside and managed to catch his own reflection in the glass. He looked as tired as he felt. Exhaustion had overtook him the moment he pulled that trigger, his three year pursuit finally coming to a close though he was fully aware of what grisly fate awaited him should he stop to rest because of that victory. There was no safe place for murderers.

Outside there was a modest crowd of people milling by, their fatigued faces glowing in the pale illumination of their phones; the screens likely detailing the riots of only a few days prior.

Or maybe not, Shinya mused as he exited the car and began making a hasty beeline for the numbered address indicated in the car’s GPS. It was unlikely after all that Sibyl would be advertising its failings and with that went any mention of a runaway— and armed— enforcer. Though even if he was incorrect on that assumption, he honestly doubted someone would actually recognize him. Poor facial recognition had become a thing of the present no matter how frightening that line of thought was and so true to his gamble, Shinya arrived to the safe house and entered without issue.

There was a small, niggling feeling at the back of his mind that told him this was all going too smoothly, that none of this should be so easy. Doing what he’d done and managing to get away with it so effortlessly sent a rolling wave of uneasiness through his conscious. But allowing himself to linger on that notion would do nothing but open the floodgates to a slew of things bothering Shinya at the moment so he mechanically pushed the observations aside and moved to gather up as many supplies as he risked to take.

That task in itself proved itself difficult. He was numb and tired and every move he made felt like trying to do so underwater. Time had lost its significance as the minutes seemed to last hours and the edges of his vision had gone blurry as the pure adrenaline he’d been running on began to ebb away and leave a hollow feeling in his limbs. The past twenty-four hours seemed so surreal, like the scene from a nightmare he couldn’t force himself awake from. There’d been no relief leaving that field, no feeling of accomplishment or success. Only cold misery and the heavy weight of what he’d done now resting itself heavily upon his tired shoulders.

So when it happened the first time, passing the event off under the guise shot nerves and intense exhaustion had been easy enough.

He’d grabbed painkillers and bandages after locating the bathroom, and took the time to patch himself up. He’d sustained surprisingly little injury considering his last bout with his rival, but there was a fully stocked and extensive cabinet of various bandages, medications, and sutures to rifle through. The place was almost better supplied than any hospital that Shinya had ever been to; various pill bottles and kits neatly packed and organized by use.

Shinya snorted at that, finishing his task with minimal difficulty. “Many thanks.” He murmured darkly to the empty apartment, somehow coming up short with genuine thanks for the other man. It didn’t help that there was no shortage of useful items stocked throughout the apartment— preservable food stuffs in the kitchen (including some of his own personal favorites, he noted wryly), as well as an extensive and versatile weapons stash and even changes of clothing (even if there did happen to be a suspicious amount of items that seemed rather large for the thin frame of his counterpart).

It was after he’d allowed himself the bare minimum of rest that he prepared himself to leave only to find himself slowing to a stop as he turned to face the extensive collection of novels on display. There was something bitter and unhappy that unfurled in his chest as Shinya’s gaze swept over the titles. He was standing in front of the treasured possessions of the arbitrator; no doubt each one of them meticulously acquired. Shinya was well aware of how difficult it was to come into ownership of paper books in this day and age and so despite his opinions of the criminal he felt a small flare of admiration for his rival at the dedication required to come into such a collection.

This all felt so _wrong_ , and for a brief moment a dizzying bout of nausea bubbled through Shinya’s throat, his vision greying and blurring out. He was standing in the house of a dead man, one who he’d _killed_ not a few hours before. He held bags stuffed full of things that weren’t his and in front of him sat rows of items that had clearly been loved and cared for.

“What’ve I done?” Shinya breathed out, the words slipping past his lips in a heartbeat.

Silence answered him and with a long, heavy sigh Shinya reached out to take a copy of a book he had been reading just this morning— now to forever be left bookmarked on a nightstand across the city in Masaoka’s own safe house.

“Well you’re a thief, for one thing.” A wry, deadpan voice suddenly cuts through the stagnant air and Shinya immediately and unceremoniously drops the book in his hand onto the floor with a loud _clunk_ in response.

He whips around with wide eyes just in time to witness Shogo Makishima heaving an exaggerated sigh, golden eyes narrowed and fixed down on Franz Kafka’s _Metamorphasis_.

For a long, drawn out moment that truly seems endless there is no sound or movement and for a very real second Shinya is entirely convinced that he truly is living out some twisted deities idea of a disgusting joke. Then the clock hand ticks and the moment passes and Shinya is reminded that he’s been awake for thirty-six hours and has the very real problems of both an overactive imagination and a heavy, unhappy conscious.

He blinks slowly at Shogo, vaguely disturbed the other man hasn’t disappeared already before picking up _Metamorphasis_ and turning back to the bookcase. Another thing to worry about when everything’s said and done and he’s hundreds of miles away from dominators and hurt colleagues.

Shogo makes another soft sound of exasperation behind him before moving to lean up against the wall. He looks almost wistful, looking over the shelves with a quiet acceptance. “I wish I’d had more time to decide what to do with them.” He commented, watching as Shinya packed away more books. “Though at least they’ll be safe here.”

Shinya grunts, hovering over an extensive collection of manga with mild amusement twitching at his eyebrow at the familiar smiling blue creature plastered across the cover.

“Leave those be.” Shogo protests, “I don’t trust you to keep precious things safe.”

“What’s yours is mine.” Shinya shoots back snidely, shooting a dirty look at Shogo and taking the first novel in the set. As soon as he speaks his mouth clamps shut and he frowns. Entertaining delusions… that seems to be the level he’s fallen to.

He straightens abruptly, ignoring Shogo’s response to that and turns sharply on his heel to exit the safe house at a brusque speed that’s honestly embarrassing considering how he was he only one in the apartment. But he doesn’t look back, doesn’t even entertain the thought until he’s back in the car with locked doors and there’s no dead criminals in sight and it’s only then that he allows himself to acknowledge how badly his hands are shaking.

 

—

 

The second time that it happens, there are no such readily available and easy excuses.

Shinya slept for a solid day and a half after boarding the first boat that would board him. The heavy lidded eyes of the man admitting passengers had barely blinked at him as Shinya offered a sizable bribe in lieu of a ticket. Other passengers seemed as haunted as him, and there had been no interactions as of yet with the other temporary inhabitants of the vessel.

That sat fine with him, however as Shinya finally exited his room to stagger up onto the deck. His room was beginning to suffocate him. Every time he turned to catch his reflection in the mirror he’d only been able to see blood that wasn’t his coating his skin, every time he shut his eyes he saw the pleading desperation in Akane’s face and the utter and complete despair strewn onto Ginoza’s as he’d knelt over the mangled body of his father.

Entertaining those thoughts sent a heady sent a heady rise of nausea through his chest and Shinya almost choked on the fist that closed itself around his heart. He closed his eyes, falling heavily against the wall and forced his breathing to even, only vaguely registering that he’d closed his fist around the still smoldering cigarette in his grasp. Not yet, he reminded himself sternly, forcing his eyes open and his feet forward to the deck. Those were problems to deal with at a later time, mourning had no place in the frantic path of a fugitive. Not yet.

Finally reaching the deck, Shinya took a deep breath of the surrounding The air was heady with the scent of the open sea and land was all but invisible on every horizon as Shinya swept a long gaze over his surroundings. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, Tokyo Bay not coming close to comparing to the miles and miles of open ocean ahead of him now. He took a long breath and slowly weaved his way over to an open section of railing to rest his elbows on the cool metal.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” A sudden, familiar voice sighed next to him, cutting through the quiet calm like a lightening strike through a clear sky. “I’d never seen the ocean before— well, not like this anyway.”

Shinya sucks in a sharp gasp, erupting into a coughing fit in response and flinching back harshly from the abrupt appearance of Shogo at his side. “Fuck!” He gasps aloud, knuckles going white at his grip on the railing. _Impossible, impossible, impossible…_ His mind chants helpfully at him as the thought briefly crosses his mind that he absolutely _must_ be asleep still in his cabin because this—

“Easy now.” Shogo says, amusement curling his lips as he watches Shinya. He’s propped his chin up on his hand and is leaning far too comfortably against the railing. He looks so _bright_ under the open light, pale hair sweeping in the breeze and golden eyes positively glowing and the sight makes something hurt in Shinya’s chest and a cold knot settle in his throat that is all but impossible to swallow around

So he sets his jaw and tears his gaze off of the other man with a difficulty he distinctly refuses to think about and forces himself to calm down and forget these tides of feelings he can’t afford to linger on right now.

Shogo doesn’t speak again after that but Shinya can still feel the presence at his side as he stares out to the horizon. There are no words he can conjure to try and explain the situation, explain the appearance of one Shogo Makishima at his side but it’s something he repeatedly tells himself to worry about later. Later when he can mourn the loss of his friends and family, later when he can find a purpose to all of this, to the path he’s forcibly carved for himself in this life.

So he stands at the edge of a ship with the man he’d murdered, breathing the ocean air and telling himself that there’s a reason for everything.

 

—

 

The third time it happened is when it slowly began to dawn on Shinya that these aren’t something that can be explained away by wishful thinking and a stream of hastily made excuses.

There’s a distinct accompanying anxiety that hits with this realization, paranoia settling in at the fringes of his nerves and pushing him right to the edge. Voices murmuring just within earshot, his own reflection caught in his peripheral of the mirror, any and all bumps in the night. Everything was an unknown, a possible hostile. There was no Sibyl to ensure the morality of the people around him, no scanners to catch the sinners before they made their moves. This was life without Big Brother in the hovering overhead and amid the liberation there was an uncertainty Shinya had yet to adjust too.

He’d been moving constantly since the boat docked on the mainland. The possibility Sibyl would come after him was slim, but still probable and that simply wasn’t something Shinya could allow to happen. Having to face the friends and coworkers he’d left behind, living up to his empty words and broken promises… The very thought made his breath catch in his throat. He’d selfishly accomplished the goal that’d consumed every waking second of his life for the past three years, but at a heavy cost.

That particular passing thought made Shinya’s brow twitch as he struck up a cigarette on the balcony adjacent from the hotel room he’d been staying in the past few nights. The building itself in all honesty probably should no longer be a working place of business. Concrete foundation was flaking off from the base of the building and the very balcony Shinya stood on was deeply slanted with a railing that could probably be pushed off over the edge if he were to try.

But it was pitifully cheap to stay here, and the few residents Shinya had come into contact with looked like they hadn’t been sober at anytime within the past few years. In a strange way he felt a kinship with that aspect of them— it’d been years since he felt like himself. Years since any other thoughts but those concerning vengeance had crossed his mind. Even now though, even hundreds of miles away from his rivals final resting place and weeks since their last breath Shinya’s every waking moment was spent consumed by Shogo Makishima.

Even after death it seemed the other man demanded Shinya’s full and total attention.

Shinya sighed heavily, exhaling a long stream of smoke before flicking the cigarette to the ground and grinding it underfoot. Tomorrow would mark his return to the road, an ever bizarre feeling as he made decisions for himself again rather than follow the orders of others. The return of his independence was something Shinya couldn’t help but linger on, entertaining the thoughts of how pleased Shogo would be at his own personal growth since fleeing the country they both once called home.

The curling, sun-faded wallpaper was peeling along the seams inside the room and the strong musk of mildew seemed to cling at every surface from the thread bare carpet to the lumpy mattress.

“You don’t seem very happy here.” Shogo’s voice filtered across the room from where he sat perched atop the tired desk in the corner.

Shinya flinched as he stepped into the room, averting his eyes away from the other man and consciously reminded himself to uncurl his nails from biting into his palms. His throat closed and for a brief second he was convinced he was going to collapse. Seeing Shogo here and now, once again was like the final nail in the coffin containing all of his uncertainty and doubt and despair from everything he’d done in the past month.

He didn’t answer Shogo, once again electing to ignore what was surely nothing more than a trick his sick mind was playing on him rather than entertain the notion. His few belongings were scattered about the room so he went about collecting them in an attempt to busy and distract himself from the other presence occupying the room.

“Is freedom everything you’d hoped it’d be?” Shogo continued, judgement surprisingly absent from his tone. “I can’t imagine the transition is an easy one.”

 _It’s not._ Shinya wants to say, wants to shout at the other man. _It’s not because you’re still here, because you’re the accumulation of everything I want to forget._

An odd kind of silence settles in as Shinya continues roughly stuffing clothes and medicine and various foods into his backpack. It would never not be strange being so alone— minus the occasional and unannounced visits from a dead man. Ginoza had been within shouting distance Shinya’s entire life, the rest of his Division One family always at arms reach.

“Do you want to go back?” Shogo asked quietly, an almost reverent quality to his voice. Like he was mentioning a secret the two of them had sworn to never speak of.

“No.” Shinya answered harshly, berating himself quietly even as he did so. “No, I don’t want that.”

“No?”

Shinya finally turned, meeting a solemn golden gaze watching him with a focus that made Shinya’s heart ache in his chest. “No.” He echoed, unable to stop himself from openly staring at Shogo.

There really must be some part of himself that held a masochistic edge for rendering the fine details of Shogo’s appearance so well. The prominent bow of his lips and the curling shadow his lashes cast over his cheekbones. The gentle sloping of his shoulders and the dip of his waist. Every bit as beautiful as he was in life but with none of the ambition— a lovely husk full to the brim with biting remarks and a melancholy air. It was Shogo Makishima without the malice and without the worldly scars and it was the cruelest image of the man Shinya could’ve possibly conceived.

A smile twitched at Shogo’s lips before he cast a sweeping look around the hotel room, disapproval clearly flickering across his features. “You’re better than this.” He said, gesturing at the cracked ceiling. “You know that.”

“Why would you think that?” Shinya asks, leaning against the footboard of the bed. “You don’t know anything about me, not really.”

Shogo sighs at that, tearing his gaze away from the ceiling to meet Shinya’s gaze. “You also know that that’s not true.” He answers quietly. A pause before, “There’s no one here but me this time.”

Shinya swallows around the cold knot in his throat that ties at those words. “Yeah.”

Just Shogo, just his enemy and counterpart and all things opposite and similar to him. Just the man he’d left lying in a field of gold after making the most twisted and selfish choice of his life. “I think I’m losing it.” He admits to Shogo, dropping his gaze down to his hands to avoid seeing the other man’s reaction. Scarred, calloused, deep nail cuts into the soft skin of his palms— they told a story all on their own. Shinya wondered what story Shogo’s hands would’ve told. 

Shogo hums softly in understanding, considering. “I think you are too.” He finally says after a moment. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“And how’s that?”

“You’re changing.” Shogo answers simply. “Evolving. Becoming a person rather than a leashed, muzzled dog.” He offers Shinya a smile, “You’re you now, you know. Without the social pressures or threat of crime coefficients and hues— it’s you as you should’ve always been.”

Shinya barks a harsh laugh, dragging a hand through his hair in something akin to defeat. “I don’t think I like that person.” He murmurs, “I don’t recognize him, I’m not proud of what he’s done.”

There’s no response from the other man, only the spluttering hum of the air conditioner coming to life. By the time Shinya allowed himself to look up at the desk Shogo was long gone.

 

—

 

The fourth, fifth, sixth and twelfth times all bled into one another as time slowly passed. Shogo existing in the corner of Shinya’s eyes at all times. A never vanishing reminder of the life he’d once lived.

“Are you happy?” Shogo whispered, the gold of his eyes bright from the reflection of the street lamp outside. He lay on the other side of the bed, shadowed in the dark of the room but still every bit the man Shinya both remembered and had come to recognize.

Shinya reaches out, unable to stop himself, and watches as the tips of his fingers phase through the smooth skin of Shogo’s cheek with a sinking feeling in his chest as they do so.

 _I could’ve been._ We _could’ve been. I know this just as I always have and just as I always will._

“I don’t know” He answers honestly, listening to the sound of his voice echo through the empty room.

 

 

 


End file.
